Chapter 22: The Odyssey (Part 2)
Two days later, still within their allotted time, Alexios and Lykurgos neared the coast. The heavy, salt-drenched air that blew inland was a strange, new sensation, one that did little to wash away the fresh grief of their kinsman's death.
Before them, the endless blue ocean stretched to the horizon. Dark shapes circled in the sky above.
Lykurgos pointed. "Look, brother! The eagles of Zeus. The All-Father watches us."
Alexios's eyesight was sharper. They weren't eagles; they were vultures. He didn't correct his brother. They would see them up close soon enough.
They reached the shoreline and stopped. On the beach, three other aspirants were putting the finishing touches on a large, sturdy-looking raft.
Clustered around their work area were the bodies of seven or eight other boys. The vultures were already at work, greedily tearing strips of flesh from the corpses.
"Why are there so many dead?" Lykurgos asked, his hand tightening on his bow.
A reedy, breaking voice came from their left. "Because they all tried to steal the raft."
The two brothers spun, weapons ready.
A lone boy stepped out from behind a large boulder. He was skinny, with a mop of straw-blond hair, and wore simple homespun cloth and battered leather armor. A trident was strapped to his back, and two javelins were tucked in his belt.
He ignored their hostile stance. "Those three built it. The others," he gested to the bodies, "waited for the work to be done. Stealing is easier than building."
He nodded toward the raft-builders. "They all failed. Those three are hard fighters. The big one, with the two-handed axe? He killed most of them. He's huge... doesn't look a day under sixteen. If you're thinking of trying your luck, I wouldn't. The other two are just as tough."
Lykurgos scoffed, his Lacedaemonian pride pricked. "An axe is a woodcutter's tool. The two of us could take all three of them."
Alexios kept his spear level, his eyes fixed on the newcomer. "Why are you telling us this?"
The boy shrugged. "I'm probably just going to head back. The Angels never said you couldn't walk home. Just thought I'd offer some advice."
A grim smile touched Alexios's lips. "What about your team?"
"Dead," the boy said, his voice flat. "One got bit by a viper in his sleep. The other was killed when a different crew stole the raft we were building." He tapped his trident. "When there were two of us, we had a chance. Now... I can't build a new raft and defend it alone."
Alexios understood. "You want to join us. The Angels said 'no more than three.' They never said we couldn't... regroup." He looked the boy up and down. "But you're not Lacedaemonian. You're skinny. You'd be a liability."
The skinny boy's eyes lit up with a sudden fire. "That's what you think. See this?" He slapped his trident. "I was born on the coast. I learned to swim before I could walk. I can handle a sail, I can read the currents. You Lacedaemonians... I'd wager this is the first time in your lives you've even seen the ocean."
"You dare insult a Lacedaemonian warrior? You're asking to die!" Lykurgos snarled, raising his bow.
Alexios put a hand on his brother's arm, stopping him. "And you think we'll take you for that? We know the journey. We were taught how to row."
The skinny boy laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Row? You know nothing. You'll row yourselves to death before you're halfway to the Sanctuary. Did you bring a sail? Or were you planning on using those red wool cloaks of yours? The first storm will tear that wool to rags."
Alexios considered. Three was better than two. And the boy's claims... his clothes were stiff with old salt, his skin weathered. He was telling the truth. The next part of the journey was on the sea. An expert would be vital.
Alexios made his decision. He planted the butt of his spear in the sand and held out his forearm.
"I am Alexios. This is my brother, Lykurgos. We are Lacedaemonian warriors. You can join us. But you will follow my orders."
The skinny boy grinned, his fear vanishing. He clasped Alexios's arm. "Gorgias. And I'm a fisherman."
The team was three strong again. They decided to build their own raft, not risk a fight they didn't need.
They headed to the woods just off the beach. Alexios and Lykurgos drew their axes, but Gorgias pulled a coiled wire-saw from his pack. As they hauled the logs to the shore, the brothers prepared to bind them with vines, but Gorgias showed them a series of complex knots that were far stronger.
That night, as the brothers chewed on their dry protein-rations, Gorgias waded into the shallows and returned with shellfish and edible seaweed, which he boiled into a hot, savory stew. The brothers began to look at the "Emperor-worshipping heretic" with a new, grudging respect.
For three days they worked, securing fresh water in a folding plastic cistern they'd carried, while Gorgias used a simple hook and line to catch fish, which he smoked over a fire, preserving them for the journey.
On the final night, the raft was nearly complete. All that remained was to raise the mast, for which Gorgias had a sail-cloth hidden nearby. They sat around their small fire, drinking the last of their stew.
"The axe-crew left three days ago," Gorgias said, staring into the flames. "I've been seeing shadows in the hills. We have the same problem they did. The raft is finished. The scavengers are coming."
Alexios was calm. "We expected this. We hold the beach until it's ready."
Lykurgos was arrogant. "Let them come. My bow will give them a warm welcome."
Gorgias sighed. "Tomorrow is the test. If we can't hold them, we die. And even if we do... launching this thing into the open sea is just another way to die." He stood up. "I'll take the first watch. You two sleep. You're the warriors. I'll need you at your full strength."
As Gorgias walked to the perimeter, Alexios glanced at the hills. Against the starlight, he could just make out a silhouette, watching them.
Let them come, he thought, gripping his spear. The Lacedaemonian warrior will make a sieve of them.